In my life before children, I was a voracious reader. Books would be stacked on my nightstand, waiting to be devoured. My library card was nicely worn and a trip to the bookstore was soul filling treat. In my first pregnancy, when I couldn’t sleep, I’d go through a book every couple of days. It was almost as if there was a premonition to get in as much as possible. The years following the birth of my children, held books about trucks, animals and trains than subjects of my own choosing. Read More